Page 102 of Sinful as They Come
I didn’t even know how to describe it. All I knew was that Sawyer had defended me more than Carter ever had. And wehatedeach other. What did that say about Carter? About Sawyer? More importantly, what did that say about me? Why did I ever let Carter walk all over me the way he did? He really had me wrapped around his finger.
I sighed and pressed my face into my pillows.
It looked like I was hiding out in my bedroom. Maybe I was. But I didn’t know what else to do except to escape back home. Laying face down in my bed and pretending like I didn’t really, really enjoy that kiss with Sawyer seemed like the better option. Because the other option was acknowledging what happened.
But even when I shut my eyes, I still saw Sawyer. Those deep green eyes. They were so striking. And he was so handsome. I couldn’t deny that. In a rugged way. In a way that frustrated me. A part of me loved how rough andloud and bad he was, how he was the opposite of all the clean cut, perfectly polished country club boys I was supposed to want.
“Holly?”
I flipped over in bed, startled. Why was I on such high alert?
It was my dad behind the door, giving it some gentle knocks.
“Are you alright in there? I saw you running in. Are you okay?” he asked. “Can I come in?”
Letting out a long sigh, I straightened up my dress and sat up properly. My dad was being his usual overprotective self.
“You can come in,” I called out.
He opened the door a few seconds later, a curious stare on his face. He was dressed casually since it was a Sunday. No suits today. Just a polo shirt that I was so used to seeing him in.
“Is there a reason why you came running into the house, looking like you had seen a ghost?” He crossed the room slowly. “It looked like something happened.”
Something did happen, but there was no way I could tell him. The last thing I needed was for him to go into unhinged father territory.
“No, Daddy, I’m fine.” I smiled. “Honestly. I was just in a rush to get home.”
“You were at the library today, right?”
“Uh-huh.” I cleared my throat.
“You’re helping with that big project?”
“Yeah. The, uh, painting.”
“Who’s painting it?”
I blinked at him a couple times. “Sawyer.”
“Sawyer?” He drew the name out, clearly on a search for the last name he didn’t want to hear.
“Westbrook,” I said with the quietest of whispers, hoping he’d think I was saying something else. Like a name that wasn’t attached to such… delinquency.
“Sawyer Westbrook?” my father snapped. “They got that kid down there? Why’d they pick him?”
“They… They asked him.” I shrugged. “He’s pretty talented.”
“Is he?” He rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen his stuff. Not that great. And they wantyouto deal with him? Did he do something to you this morning? Is that why you came home with that look on your face?”
“No. Daddy, nothing happened,” I lied. I hated lying, but he was already freaking out.
“If he touches you, you tell me. Or Carter. I’m sure he’d like to deal with that little punk.”
I sighed at the mere mention of Carter. My parents still didn’t know we had broken up. Dad loved Carter. So did my mom. He was the ideal. The perfect guy for me. Theythoughthe was perfect, at least. The blond-haired, blue-eyed quarterback with just the right amount of talent to keep his true side hidden when he was around them. He had fooled them. And me.
It was a lot easier to keep the breakup to myself. At least at home I could shy away from all the bad things he had done to me. But at school? Every face and smirk were a reminder that I had been nothing but a joke to Carter.
I sighed loudly, tugging at the corner of one of my pillows. “Carter and I aren’t together anymore.”
